The Resurrected Detective
by Jenna Cassie Herdz
Summary: Two years after The Fall, Quennel Yule is still trying to cope without Sherlock Holmes, even following Anderson's Empty Hearse theory for solice. A midnight visitor comes to call, giving her the shock of her life, but also puts her emotional suffering to an end. Sherlock Holmes is back with another case, another villain, and loose ends to tie up with Sebastian Moran.
1. A Day in a Life Without Sherlock Holmes

**A/N:** welcome to my Shernel sequel and my second Sherlock fic! First of all, thanks to all those who read and enjoyed my first fic, and if you're new and haven't read that one yet, I suggest you go do that first (LOL). For those of you who have returned for more, HERE IT IS! I'VE FINALLY STARTED! and without further ado, ENJOY!

* * *

 _ **Chapter 1: A Day in a Life Without Sherlock Holmes**_

 _He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers, pulling her as close as he could as he instantly deepened the kiss. He pulled back and stared into her eyes as she caught her breath from the desperate kiss._

" _I love you," he whispered, making her heart leap as her eyes shot wide, but her heart sank again with his next words. "I need you to trust me and stand right here. Don't move."_

 _He began backing away from her and she took a step with him, but he gently pushed her back, neither one breaking eye contact. She sobbed, shaking her head as he still stepped back, remaining in her spot as their embrace was broken. He gave her a sad smile as their fingers slipped from the other's grip and she screamed at him, but he only turned to step toward the ledge, then up onto it. She shook her head, trying to call out to him, silently and hoping he would turn around to give her that signature smirk and explain how he could get himself out of this._

 _He spread his arms and let himself fall forward off the building._

" _Sherlock_ _!"_

* * *

" _Sherlock_ _!"_

 _She screamed as she shot up in her bed, panting as her heart raced from the terror induced by the dream she'd just had._

" _Quennel?"_

 _She gasped and turned in the bed to see the very man she'd just dreamt of staring at her with wide, blue eyes filled with concern._

" _Oh, Sherlock," she shuddered, instantly falling against his chest and laying them both down again as he held her, burying her face into his chest. "I just had a terrible nightmare! Moriarty…Moriarty made you kill yourself!"_

" _Now, why are you crying about that, Miss Yule?" he murmured. "You're being obtuse again. After all, it_ _did_ _happen."_

 _She froze and frowned in wonder before silently shifting to look up at him. Her breath caught in her throat when Sherlock's face was covered in blood pouring from a wound on his head as he still held her in his arms._

" _I am_ _dead_ _, you silly woman."_

 _She screamed in horror, pushing against him…_

* * *

Quennel Yule screamed as she awoke then gave a grunt of pain when she landed on the floor of her flat, having rolled off of her bed. She groaned as she sat up, tangled in her sheets and Caesar, her German Shepherd hurried toward her to be sure his mistress was alright. The canine instantly began licking her face, making her unable to help but chuckle, tiredly as she lifted a hand to stroke his fur, soothingly.

"Sto bene, Caesar, te lo prometto," (I'm ok, Caesar, I promise) she murmured as he backed away to look her over and make sure she was telling the truth. "Solo un brutto sogno." (Just a bad dream)

She groaned as she struggled to stand, pushing past the pain and her body still trying to wake up. She looked to the clock on the stand next to her bed and groaned again. It was time for her to get up and start her day.

"I'm going to _kill_ Mycroft for putting me on this bloody mission," she grumbled, shoving herself up to head toward her restroom to start her daily routine. "He said it would be lengthy, but this is getting ridiculous."

It had been two years since the incident she dubbed 'The Fall.' Immediately after that, she realized she would need a new job as her previous occupation as Sherlock's assistant was a bust, in so many words.

She had tried to pick up her old career as a reporter, but the BBC wouldn't even touch after she'd been in the press connected to Sherlock. She tried to get into the morgue with Molly, hoping her education in forensics would get her somewhere, but Molly's higher-up refused…for the same reason the BBC refused her. Too close to Sherlock.

The only other person she knew she could turn to was Mycroft…the very man she'd refused taking a job from when she was sacked as a reporter. She was grateful at first when she spent her first months as his personal secretary. However, after six months of that, he began sending her on missions. Undercover mostly, but it was grueling work. She was regretting taking up on his job offer. And now she was on a mission that required her to work for a man she rather wished she'd never even heard of, let alone began working for as a secretary.

Quennel fixed her now long, curly hair into a sideways do before quickly beginning to apply her makeup. She couldn't believe she'd let her hair grow longer than her usual pixie cut, but she rather liked it. And on this undercover mission, she had to look as feminine as possible.

"God, I hope I'm almost done with this one," she sighed, finishing up with her face. "Working for him gives me the willies."

She demonstrated to herself with a shiver before hurrying toward her sitting room and grabbing her purse.

"I'll be back tonight, Caesar!" she called as he trotted after her, but remained inside when she opened the door and grinned at him, "Essere un bravo ragazzo, ok?" (Be a good boy, ok?)

Caesar barked once in response, making her giggle and blow a kiss to him.

"Ciao!" she called, shutting the door to her flat and locking it.

"Heading to work, Quennel?" a friendly, elderly woman's voice called to her from behind, making her turn toward the voice with a grin.

"Yep," she smiled, tucking her keys into her purse and moving some of her hair from her face. "The boys home?"

"From all the carryings on I heard in there? Either they're home, or I have a pair of squatters that sound just like them," Mrs. Turner smirked, making Quennel laugh before she made her way to her neighbor's door to knock as Mrs. Turner made her way toward the very front door, keys in hand. "I'm going for groceries, darling. Need anything?"

"Oh, no, thank you, Mrs. Turner," Quennel grinned, waiting for one of the men to answer the door. She looked to the door when it slowly opened, revealing a handsome man with mussed brown hair, blue eyes that were squinting out the gap of the door, a chiseled jaw and broad shoulders. "Wakey, wakey, Andy!"

"Please…not so loud," he groaned, rubbing his face and Quennel couldn't help but gaze over Andy's shirtless torso. She may not have been on the market, and he was certainly not batting for her team, but she could absolutely enjoy the sight of him standing shirtless in front of her, and often had over the two years of being neighbors. "And turn the lights down, will ya?"

"I would if I could, but I'm not God," she smirked, leaning on the frame of the door. "Contrary to popular belief. Is _one_ of you sober?"

"Will can handle it better than me," Andy replied, rubbing his eyes. "Watch Caesar?"

"Yes, please. I'll text him," she nodded cheerfully before leaning closer to press a kiss to his cheek. "Try a Prairie Oyster for that hangover."

"More like Hair of the Dog," he grumbled as she turned to head toward the door and he shut his flat door after her.

Quennel sighed as she stood at the curb, waiting for the black car that usually picked her up to take her to work. Mycroft was nice enough to allow her to take his car there…since she was so 'close to the family,' as he put it. Not only that, but the mission was a rather important one. The car pulled up, prompt as always, and she climbed into the back seat, only to gasp with a start at who was joining her.

"Good morning, Miss Yule," Mycroft greeted next to her.

"Bloody hell, I can see where Sherlock got it from," she sighed, placing a hand over her racing heart. "Do you have to give me a start just before work?"

"Forgive me, but I wanted check up on you, personally," he confessed as she shut her door and the car pulled into traffic.

"Do you have time for that sort of thing?" she teased, pulling on her seat belt.

"Just enough to spare a slight detour in my own errands today," he retorted.

Quennel only gave a scoff as she looked out the window. She had come to expect this since starting this mission. Every once in a while Mycroft would show up, out of the blue, claiming in his Mycroft way that he was in the neighborhood. She didn't mind him checking up on her so much. It reminded her of the way he used to do the same thing with Sherlock.

"Feeling nostalgic, are we?" Mycroft asked, making her look to him in wonder at how he had guessed what she was thinking. Then again, she should have known he would, but he went on to explain, "You start twirling your hair when you're thinking back on something. My brother, perhaps?"

Her expression fell as she turned back to the window, lowering her hand from the end of her hair where she'd been twirling it…as he said.

"I had a dream about…that day," she reported, making him give a nod of understanding. "It was a dream within a dream. I woke up in bed with Sherlock, but he…he was bloodied all over his face. When I _actually_ woke up I fell off my bed and onto the floor. Now I can't seem to _stop_ thinking about Sherlock…as if I ever did."

After a moment, in which Mycroft remained silent, she gave a small sigh and rubbed her tired eyes, adding, "Look, I understand you're immune to sentiment, but an encouraging word wouldn't go amiss here."

Mycroft took in a breath before replying, "Perhaps you will take solace in the fact that, the night before…what you call 'The Fall,' John came to see me and gave me a stern talking-to about telling one of the most dangerous men in the world Sherlock's life story."

"I remember," Quennel chuckled. "I'm sure he was furious with you. He was angry when I told him everything about my involvement, but he did forgive me."

The car came to a stop in front of large building, and she undid her seatbelt, adding, "Thank you for the ride, Mr. Holmes."

"You're quite welcome, Miss Yule," he nodded as she climbed out of the car to head toward the building they were stopped in front of.

* * *

 _Afternoon..._

Quennel gave a small sigh as she trudged down Baker Street from where the cab had left her. She was glad her 'employer' let her go for the rest of the day. She wasn't sure she could stand being there any longer today. Not after the night she'd had. She stepped toward her own building, but stopped before she went up the steps to the front door, glancing toward the building next to hers.

221

She chewed on her lower lip in thought. She'd been thinking about Sherlock all day long, and now she realized she hadn't made her weekly visit to Mrs. Hudson yet. She would go there, have tea or breakfast or dinner and spend time with a woman that she was sure Sherlock thought of a second mother, or even a grandmother. It made her feel closer to Sherlock.

"Oi, Miss!"

She jumped and looked to the sidewalk where two children were standing with a stroller that had clothes piled in it and stuffed to make it look like a man's body, a balloon with a face drawn on it as the head.

"Penny for the Guy?" the boy asked, making her frown until she realized the time of year it was. She gave a smile and rummaged through her purse for a penny all the way down at the bottom and handed it to him, making him grin. "Thank you, Miss!"

Quennel watched the boys head down the street before looking back at Sherlock's building. Making up her mind she stepped toward 221, pulling out her keys where she still had the key to the building, unlocking the front door and heading right for Mrs. Hudson's flat door. She knocked quickly before she could change her mind, and was relieved when she instantly came to the door.

"Quennel, dear!" Mrs. Hudson grinned, throwing her arms around the young woman for a tight hug. "You're out of work early!"

"Yeah, boss only needed me for half the day," Quennel shrugged.

"Quennel?"

She gave a frown at the familiar voice behind the landlady, who moved aside to let the brunette see who was sitting at the table in her flat.

"John Watson!" she grinned, letting herself into the flat as John stood in time to catch Quennel when she threw her arms around him. "Good God, man! It's been ages! How are you?!"

"I'm fine," he nodded as they released each other. "You look well."

"Thanks, but my life is boring," she smiled. "Tell me about you! What have you been up to?"

"Ah, well, I was just here to…pick up a few things," he replied.

"Oh! Yes! We can head up now, if you like," Mrs. Hudson stated.

Quennel froze as she looked to the woman in shock before murmuring, "Up…to the flat?"

"Quennel, if you'd rather not—"

"No, it's fine," Quennel cut into Mrs. Hudson's concern as John placed a consoling hand on her shoulder. "I just…wasn't prepared."

"I'll only be a minute," John assured her. "If you'd like to stay down here, I'm sure neither of us would be offended."

"Sherlock would be," she murmured, unable to help the small smile that came to her lips, John meeting her gaze in understanding.

"Sentiment," they said together, making Mrs. Hudson give a small laugh before they all made their way to the door.

"John?" Quennel began as they made their way up the stairs.

"Yes?"

"Are you…planning on keeping that?" she asked, gesturing to her own mouth as she referred to the moustache John now sported above his lip.

"Well, of course," he frowned in wonder as they reached the door and Mrs. Hudson unlocked it.

"Alright," she shrugged. "I know my opinion probably means nothing, but for what it _is_ worth, it doesn't suit you."

"Right, thanks," John retorted, making Quennel smirk before they stepped through the door and Mrs. Hudson turned on the lights.

Everything was exactly where it had been two years before. Dust had collected on everything and was floating in the air, only being seen when the light coming through the cracks in the thick curtains caught the specks flying around. Quennel swallowed, hard as memories instantly flooded her mind when she glanced around the room, John beside her, no doubt feeling the pain of his own loss as well.

"I couldn't face letting it out," Mrs. Hudson explained, heading toward one of the windows to push the heavy curtains aside and let in more light. She coughed as the thick layers of dust flew up into the air, John making his way around to look over the kitchen and Quennel only kept her spot near the door. "He never liked me dusting."

"I remember," Quennel murmured, looking to John as he stepped back into the living area.

"So why now?" Mrs. Hudson asked John, heading for the other window to open those curtains as well. "What changed your mind?"

"Well, I've got some news," John began, making both women look to him.

"John…is it serious?" Quennel breathed in concern as she took his hand.

"What?" John frowned in wonder before replying, "No, no, I'm not ill. I'm, uh…moving on."

"You're emigrating," Mrs. Hudson guessed, sadly as John patted Quennel's hand reassuringly, and both of them looked to her in confusion.

"Nope," John retorted, slightly exasperated as Quennel couldn't help but smile, but said nothing. "No, I've, uh…I've met someone."

"Oh!" Mrs. Hudson giggled, stepping closer and clapping her hands as Quennel grinned. "Ah, lovely!"

"That's wonderful!" Quennel cheered, hugging his arm and he nodded his thanks.

"Yeah, we're getting married," he reported. "Well, I'm going to ask, anyway."

"So soon, after Sherlock?" Mrs. Hudson frowned in wonder, making both of them frown in wonder.

"Well, yes," John replied, shortly.

"What's his name?" Mrs. Hudson wondered, making Quennel unable to keep herself from bursting into a laugh as John sighed.

"It's a woman," he replied.

"A woman?!"

"Yes, of _course_ it's a woman."

"You really _have_ moved on, haven't you?"

"Mrs. Hudson, how many times…? Sherlock was not my boyfriend."

"Live and let live, that's my motto."

"Listen to me. _I am not gay_!"

Quennel doubled over with laughter, tears coming to the corners of her eyes.

* * *

 _Evening..._

Quennel knelt down toward the gravestone to rest a small bouquet of flowers at its base before standing and staring down at it.

"I don't care if you wouldn't want me to bring you flowers, but I brought them anyway," she told the gravestone with the name of her beloved carved into it.

"I was able to leave work early today," she began. "I had lunch with Scarlett and then headed home. She's doing well with her beau. Hopefully there'll be a wedding soon, she's been dating him long enough. Then I headed to Baker Street and had my weekly chat with Mrs. Hudson. John was there, actually. He said he wanted to see the flat, get a few things of his, I guess. He's getting married as soon as he asks her."

She lowered her head to her hands where she began wringing her fingers, then resumed, "I…went up to the flat, too. It wasn't as hard as I thought it would be…but it still hurt a bit. Everything is as you left it. None of us had the heart to touch anything else. I know what you'd say…something about sentiment, but you're dead, so I suppose it doesn't matter."

Tears began welling up in her eyes as her emotions got the better of her, the dream from that night still haunting her as well.

"I miss you, Sherlock," she whispered in a shudder. "It's been two years…but I still miss you. I dream about the day I lost you and it…kills me inside every time. Sometimes…I dream that it was all just a nightmare, and I wake up and I'm in your arms, but those dreams either end up becoming nightmares…or they don't last very long. John asked you for a miracle Sherlock…and I'm waiting for you to deliver."

"Quennel!"

She gasped as she turned to the familiar voice, before looking away to wipe away her tears then turn back to the man approaching her with a smile.

"Anderson," she smiled as the scruffy faced man stepped up to her, glancing at the gravestone. "What did you bring me?"

"Thought I might find you here," he nodded in understanding before looking to her again as she sniffled and he held something up in his hand. "I have the map."

Quennel's eyes widened as she took the rolled map from him and instantly knelt down to open it up and spread it out. Over the map were dots, dashes and solid lines indicating a journey someone either was or would be taking.

"Mind you, these are just estimates, based on the stories I've heard," Anderson explained, kneeling next to her as she kept her eyes on the map. "But if you have a look at the solid lines…those are the points I know _for sure_ are connected. And if you look at the path they make…"

He pointed her in the direction on the map where he thought it would lead next, making her take in a slow breath as her eyes widened.

"It's making its way back to England," Anderson explained. "According to the dates…Sherlock is coming back this way."

Quennel's heart raced as she stared at the map, hope swirling into her heart.

Anderson had come to her a year ago with his theory that Sherlock had faked his death somehow and that he was off around the world solving crimes and keeping busy. He had gone to everyone that would listen to him. John wanted nothing to do with it. Donovan could've cared less. Lestrade indulged him, but told him time and time again it was all bollucks, and Molly and Mrs. Hudson, like John, refused to listen. Only Quennel seemed to have some belief that _maybe_ Anderson was right. Maybe Sherlock _was_ still alive? After all, she wouldn't put it past him to fake his death for whatever reason, and based on what he had told her their last night together, she was sure he had had _something_ planned.

"Quennel, I'm having an Empty Hearse meeting at my flat," Anderson reported as she still stared at the map. "I would be honored if you came. The members would love it, and I'm certain they'll give you comfort."

"I told you, Phillip, I won't go to your meetings," she reiterated. "I don't need Sherlockians gawking at me. But you give them my best. I can keep this, yes?"

"Yes, of course, but you have to hold up your end of the deal, and look at this," Anderson reminded her as he pulled a folded picture from his trouser pocket to hold it toward her. "What do you think? It's in the papers already. We did everything you told us to do. Does it look alright? Do you think it'll lure him out if he saw it in the papers?"

Quennel looked to the picture of a skeleton in an old suit sitting at a desk in an underground room. She regretted her part in setting that up, but he wouldn't give her the information she wanted without her help. She was sure, if Sherlock was alive, he would hate her for it.

"It looks good," she replied, vaguely, rolling the map again. "I have to get home. Thanks for this. I'll see you around."

She didn't wait for a response from him before she made her way toward the gate leading to the street.

* * *

 _223A…_

Quennel lifted the map and tacked it onto the wall above her headboard, making sure it was straight and flat before shuffling off of her bed and standing next to it to have a look at her work. Caesar trotted up next to her and sat, letting her scratch behind his ears and she looked at the lines over the map, unable to keep from smiling, slightly.

"I know what Sherlock would say," she sighed, looking down at Caesar before kneeling to be at his level and scratch at his head with both hands. "He would say it's futile to indulge any delusions that the dead can come back to life, wouldn't he?"

Caesar gave a small grunt, as if to agree, making her chuckle and stand tall to head for her kitchen, the red dressing gown flowing behind her as she walked. She wore that dressing gown every night. She was on the verge of saying her obsession was unhealthy herself, but she refused to say that out loud. Her neighbors or her landlady would take her to the loony bin themselves.

She took the glass of wine that sat on the counter and made her way to her sitting room, Caesar right behind her as she plopped onto her sofa. She flipped on the telly and changed channels until she could find something to her liking. She never could.

"Well, Caesar," she sighed as he sat next to her on the sofa. "Just another day in a life without Sherlock Holmes."

* * *

 **A/N:** there it is! reviews?


	2. The Return of Sherlock Holmes

**A/N:** new chappie! enjoy!

* * *

 _ **Chapter 2: The Return of Sherlock Holmes**_

The sound of a chime echoing through the dark room made the woman in the bed groan as it woke her up. Caesar lifted his head as he laid next to Quennel's bed when she shifted and reached for her phone on the stand beside her. She frowned when she noticed the number that had texted wasn't in her phone, but she still opened the text.

 _You'll want to answer your door_

Her frown deepened before she gave a sigh of exasperation, assuming it was some sort of a prank.

It sounded like something Mycroft would say, but he would have told her that it was him in some way if it were him.

She placed her phone back and rolled over, trying to fall back to sleep…but her phone chimed again. Growling in agitation she slapped a hand onto her phone and looked to the text that was from the same number.

 _This is no prank Miss Yule_

Quennel frowned again in confusion…but also a flicker of hope. Hope that the impossible was true.

She slowly stood from the bed, leaving her phone on the stand as she made her way to her closet to find a robe to wrap around herself and cover her mismatched pajamas of a tank top and shorts. Unable to help herself, she pulled the red dressing gown out of her closet and quickly wrapped it around herself before heading for her flat door. She didn't rush, she wanted to recall every detail…if her wish came true.

A soft knock on the door made her jump and stop in her tracks for a moment as Caesar trotted up next to her from her bedroom. She chewed on her lower lip, her heart racing as she stepped closer to the door, reaching out toward the knob. Her fingers shook before they gripped the knob so tightly that her knuckles turned white, then closed her eyes and took in a deep breath.

She turned the knob and pulled the door open…to find a very familiar figure standing in her threshold.

"Good morning, Miss Yule."

"Sh-Sherlock…" she breathed, her heart stopping as she only stared up at him, barely registering the cut on his lower lip as her eyes darted over his face before landing on his piercing blue stare. "Is…Is this a dream? Are you even real?"

Without another word, Sherlock lifted a hand toward her face, their gazes never wavering. He gently pressed his hand to her cheek, making her gasp before her eyes fluttered shut and she nuzzled her cheek deeper into his palm. He couldn't help but give a small smile at seeing her content expression. Her hands came up and pressed his hand even closer to her before she opened her eyes again, tears forming in them.

Simultaneously, he pulled her closer as she stepped toward him and threw her arms around his neck, his own arms wrapping around her waist as their lips came together in a passionate kiss. It was desperate. All teeth and tongue and want and need. She decided she would question him later, and he realized she had questions that he would have to answer. But for now, they could be primal and communicate without words. It had been far too long for both of them, and they could both feel it through the kiss how much one needed the other.

Sherlock bent down low enough to sweep her off of her feet, making her gasp in surprise against his mouth before she sighed and pulled him closer as he walked toward her bedroom. Caesar watched from his spot next to the sofa as Sherlock kicked the door shut, and the detective nearly threw her onto her bed to strip off his coat and scarf as she pulled off the robe she wore.

"You know something, Sherlock," she whispered with a wide grin as he leaned over her, kicking off his shoes. "I don't care if this is a dream. I just won't wake up."

"I assure you, Miss Yule, this is no dream," he murmured back, pushing her back completely to hover above her with a sexy smirk and a hunger in his eyes. "If it were, knowing _your_ imagination, we would be on your sofa, drinking tea with a white rabbit."

"Was that an Alice in Wonderland reference?" she couldn't help but smirk. "My, my, we've expanded our mind, haven't we, Mr. Holmes?"

"Two years of thinking I was dead, and still, you tease me?" he smirked, playfully then craned his neck to catch her lips in a hot kiss before pulling away, to add, "You should be punished for that remark."

"Learned a thing or two about punishment as well, have you?" she shot back, but gasped when he gripped her wrists and pulled them up above her head, locking them in a one-handed grip. "I suppose that answers my question."

"Enough chatter, Miss Yule," he nearly growled, leaning closer to her lips again. "I have better plans for that mouth of yours."

* * *

 _Later..._

"Alright, you have questions," Sherlock blurted as he lay on his back with Quennel snuggled next to him in his arms, her head resting on his chest.

"No one has to be as clever as you to know I have questions," she shot back with a smirk. "The _real_ test is deducing which question I'll ask first."

"I'd rather hear _you_ ask me," he replied, making her grin as she snuggled closer to him, hugging him as close as she could and not willing to let him go.

"Alright, first question:" she began, shifting her head to look up at him as he moved to meet her gaze, "…What is _this_ from?"

She gently touched the cut on his lower lip, making him sigh before he replied, "You were not my first visit, tonight."

"Oh? How very rude of you to visit me last," she shot back, still smirking, making him frown at her in wonder.

"Why would you say I'm visiting you last?" he couldn't help but wonder.

"Because you're still lying here with me," she smiled, sweetly. "You would have been gone some time ago if you had other people to see."

"Well, what's the saying?" he murmured, pulling her closer to bring his face to hers, adding, "'Save the best for last'."

She gave a giggle before quickly leaving a kiss to his lips and asking again, "Who gave you the fat lip, then?"

"John."

Quennel frowned in wonder before sighing in exasperation and shifting to look him in the eye.

"You interrupted his proposal, didn't you?" she asked, making him frown at her in disbelief. "I ran into him today when I went to visit Mrs. Hudson. He told me he met someone and that he was going to propose. You dropped a bomb on him on one of the most stressful nights of his life and you didn't think he wouldn't punch you in the face?"

"He did a bit more than that," he muttered, making her chuckle as she rested on his chest again. "And I apologized! Why did he punch me in the face?!"

"Because he went through the emotional trauma of losing his best friend and then, after two years without word, you show up out of nowhere!" she shot back. "Saying you're sorry doesn't even _begin_ to cover what we felt!"

Sherlock frowned at her in wonder as he echoed, "'We'?"

Realization dawned on Quennel as she stared at him in shock at herself before Sherlock sat up, taking her with him and their gazes still locked.

"Yes, Sherlock…we," she nodded, not bothering to try explaining it away. She couldn't. He could see right through her. And she refused to hide anything from him after what happened with Moriarty. "John wasn't the only one hurt by this whole thing. Mrs. Hudson, Molly, Lestrade…and me. We all thought you were dead!"

"Why was Molly, upset? She helped me with the entire thing—"

"She _what_?!"

"Oh, Miss Yule, don't be obtuse. You _had_ to know I needed help to pull this off."

"Who else knew?" Quennel growled, glaring at him.

"Why is that so important? John asked the same thing."

"Answer the question, Sherlock."

"Mycroft…some of my homeless network…my parents."

" _Mycroft_ , knew?"

"Do you honestly think you have proverbial leg to stand on, considering what you and Mycroft were hiding from me?" Sherlock smirked, making her glare fall to a stare of disbelief that he was bringing it up. He sighed and took her hands in his as his smirk fell and he looked to their hands. "I understand why you're upset, allow me to give you a narrative that will possibly answer all questions you have about why I did what I had to."

Quennel gave a nod, and Sherlock laid back, gently pulling her with him to let her lay against him once more. He slid his arms around her to hold her as she couldn't help but snuggle against him.

"The criminal network Moriarty headed was vast," he began. "Its roots were everywhere, like a cancer, so we came up with a plan. Mycroft, with your help, fed Moriarty information about me. Moriarty, in turn, gave us hints, just hints as to the extent of his web. We let him go, because it was important to let him believe he had the upper hand. And then I sat back and watched Moriarty destroy my reputation, bit by bit. I had to make him believe he'd beaten me, utterly defeated me, then he'd show his hand.

"There were thirteen likely scenarios once we were up on that roof. Each of them were rigorously worked out and given a code name. It wasn't just my reputation that Moriarty needed to bury. I had to die. The one thing I didn't anticipate was just how far Moriarty was prepared to go. I suppose that was obvious, given our first meeting at the swimming pool. His death wish.

"I hadn't anticipated _you_ being there, either. I knew he would use you as the final blow, but I thought he would have made you leave, or you would've taken your chance to escape. You do surprise me, at times, Miss Yule. However, I knew you would listen to me if I gave you clear instructions, given your shock to the entire situation.

"I knew I didn't have long. I contacted my brother, set the wheels in motion. And then everyone got to work. It was vital that John stayed just where I'd put him and that way his view was blocked by the ambulance station. It was also important that you stayed where I had put you, because I knew that if you ran toward where I'd fallen, you would trip over Moriarty's arm, stalling long enough for me to fulfill the rest of the plan.

"I needed to hit the air bag, which I did. Speed was paramount. The air bag needed to be got out of the way just as John cleared the station. But we needed him to see a body. That's where Molly came in. Like figures on a weather clock, we went one way, John went the other. Then, for him, our well-timed cyclist put John briefly out of action, and for you, it was the stumble over Moriarty's body, giving me time to switch places with the corpse on the pavement. The rest was just window dressing. And one final touch, a squash ball under the armpit. Apply enough pressure and it momentarily cuts off the pulse.

"Everything was anticipated, every eventuality allowed for. It worked perfectly."

Quennel took in a deep breath before murmuring, "So…Molly helped by getting a body for you?"

"You remember the little girl that was abducted by Moriarty?" he asked. "Anderson and Donovan assumed she reacted like that because I was her kidnapper. But I deduced Moriarty must have found someone who looked very like me to plant suspicion and that that man, whoever he was, had to be got out of the way as soon as his usefulness ended. That meant there was a corpse in a morgue somewhere that looked just like me. Molly found the body, faked the records and I provided the other coat."

"You do have lots of coats," she smirked, then frowned, "But what about the sniper on John?"

"Mycroft's men intervened before he could take the shot. He was invited to reconsider."

"So…you knew," she murmured, making him frown as she finally shifted to look up at him. "You _knew_ that I was giving Moriarty information along with Mycroft…and you _both_ made me believe that you knew _nothing_?!"

"Like my death, you couldn't know anything about it," he explained. "Plausible deniability, Miss Yule."

"I understand, but…" she trailed off, weakly. She had started out angry, enraged that he had been alive and hadn't told her, but now…she was just depressed. "I mourned, Sherlock. We all did. I was lost without you, and then you tell me that only certain people knew that you were still alive, and you expect me to be ok with it?"

"Of course I don't," he replied, instantly, making her stare at him in absolute shock. "As I found with the situation with John today, simply apologizing doesn't make everything go away. If you need…time away from me to process the rest of your emotions—"

"I don't need _time_ , Sherlock. I need more answers," she cut in. "I have more questions about your time away. Like whether or not you even _thought_ of me while you were taking Moriarty's web apart!"

"Yes…I did," he replied, flatly, making her eyes shoot wide as their gazes locked. "I thought of you every day. I meant, so many times, to write…call…text. But something would come up and I would rather you remain blissfully ignorant than worried over me…and miserable."

She stared at him for a moment before being unable to help the smile that slowly crept over her lips and she just as slowly moved up to press her lips to his. He froze in shock, not having expected the reaction, and stared at her in wide-eyed confusion when she pulled back again with a grin.

"You and your unexpected romantic side," she grinned, making his shock subside as he gave a small chuckle.

"I have to say, your reactions are…unexpected," he admitted. "I thought, after my encounter with John, that you would react in a similar way."

"Well…I _can_ be unpredictable," she smirked, resting against him fully. "Even to you, apparently. How did everyone else react to your 'big reveal'?"

"Lestrade actually hugged me," he reported, making her snicker. "Mrs. Hudson screamed bloody murder, though."

"I'm sure she did," Quennel chuckled. "I just have one more question."

"Very well, but you need to sleep," Sherlock retorted.

"You hypocrite!" she laughed, lightly punching him in the chest. "You _never_ sleep properly, yet you scold _me_?!"

"Ask me your question, Miss Yule," he muttered.

"How did you end up back here?" she asked. "I assume Mycroft helped you, but—"

"You want to hear a story," he guessed, irritably.

"Well, don't sound so enthused, Sherlock," she shot back.

"If I must, I will," he retorted, before explaining, "Yes, Mycroft helped me. Serbia was the last piece of the puzzle. After I got out of the Serbian prison, I was re-captured, unfortunately. Mycroft came disguised as some kind of officer, watching over the man beating me for information—"

"Hang on," Quennel cut in, irritably. "Mycroft…watched you being beaten?"

"Yes, and I'm _certain_ he enjoyed it," Sherlock added, then watched her in wonder as she a hand ran over his stomach.

"Is that…where these bruises came from?" she murmured.

"Yes," he replied, matter-of-factly.

"While he watched?"

"Yes."

"I'm going to kill the man."

"Not if I kill him first."

"We could do it together," Quennel smiled, snuggling against him. "We could make a date of it."

Sherlock stared at her stoically, making her frown in wonder as she looked up at him, but he remained silent for a moment.

"Sherlock?"

"You should prepare yourself, Miss Yule," he suddenly stated, making her frown deepen, but she soon gave a gasp of surprise when she was suddenly on her back with Sherlock hovering above her, his hands grasping her wrists. "Hearing you speak like that has…had an effect on me. I hope you're prepared to face the consequences."

"Oh, I've been prepared for some time, Mr. Holmes," she shot back with a smirk before he planted his lips to hers once more.

* * *

 _The Next Morning..._

Quennel tiptoed around her room, quietly changing from her pajamas and into her work clothes as Sherlock, amazingly, still slept. She supposed it was the best sleep he'd had in the past two years, possibly longer and he looked so peaceful that she didn't want to wake him, even to say goodbye for the day. Once she had her things gathered, she set them by the door and decided to get something for food on the way to 'work.'

"Miss Yule?"

"Bloody hell," she whispered before turning to face him, and unable to keep from groaning at the sight of him sitting up in her bed, the sheet gathered at his waist. "Sherlock, I am far too busy for you to look so delicious this early in the morning. Not to mention that tone you just took with me."

"And what tone might that be?" he smirked, knowingly as he shoved the covers off to stand and stroll toward her. She took in a breath through her nose, cocking a brow at him as she looked him up and down before he stopped an inch away to loom over her. "Would it happen to be a tone that you might describe as…sultry? I've heard you describe it that way many times."

"Never to you," she shot back with a smirk of her own.

"Not to me, no," he admitted, then frowned in thought before adding, "I believe you were on the phone with your sister at the time."

"I _knew_ you were eavesdropping."

"I'm certain you did, but for some odd reason, you didn't seem to mind."

"You were also certain that I was describing you on purpose, since I knew you were listening."

"To what end?"

"To enlighten you," Quennel smirked, lifting a hand to trace the muscles of his chest, keeping his gaze. "I'm having a sudden flash of déjà vu, aren't you?"

"You're referring to the first night you spent at 221B. Your reaction was quite different that morning."

"Yes, it was," she nodded, lowering her hand and sighing as she shook her head with a smirk, "I _really_ need to get to work."

"I thought you worked for Mycroft now," Sherlock recalled, making her frown in wonder before he added, "He told me after we came back from Serbia."

"I _am_ working for Mycroft," she nodded, worriedly. "But…I'm undercover. That's about as much as I can tell you."

Sherlock couldn't help but give a genuine grin and a hearty laugh to go with it, making her eyes widen in disbelief at him.

"You've taken on some of his traits, I see," he still grinned. "One of which, thinking you can keep things…classified. Need I remind you how well that went the last time you tried it?"

"No," she ground out in mild anger that he would bring it up. "But this is quite different. It's government business. All _you_ need to know is I'm undercover. I can't tell you any more than that. I'm _finished_ keeping secrets from you, Sherlock. I refuse to have a repeat of _any_ kind of what happened two years ago."

Sherlock's gaze met hers evenly, and he gave a small nod, murmuring, "I didn't mean to upset you—"

"I know," she cut in, making him give a frown. "I'm sorry, but I can't tell you anything, and I'm going to be late. So, please, put some clothes on and get on with whatever case Mycroft pulled you out of Serbia for."

Quennel stepped onto her tiptoes, making him frown in absolute confusion before she pressed a kiss to his cheek then turned with a smirk to saunter toward the door.

"How did you know he gave me a case?" he questioned her as she walked toward her door, Caesar strolling up next to Sherlock to watch his mistress leave.

"Why else would Mycroft pull you out of hiding himself?" she smirked, slipping out the door so that anyone that might be in the hall didn't see her naked boyfriend. She turned to lean in, saying, "If I were you, I'd make a visit on Will and Andy as well so they don't think I've found a new beau. And let Mrs. Turner know as well? She worries about me. I'll call you when I'm off work. Love you!"

With that she shut the door to a stunned and still naked Sherlock, who muttered, "Yes…love you, too."

* * *

 **A/N:** reviews?


	3. The Assistants of Sherlock Holmes

**A/N:** new chappie! FINALLY! I had this sitting so long and didn't even realize it! enjoy!

* * *

 _ **Chapter 3: The Assistants of Sherlock Holmes**_

Quennel sighed as she flopped into the cab in front of the building she'd been in all day and quickly pulled out her phone to dial a number belonging to the man she'd been thinking of non-stop since that morning.

"Where to, love?" the cabby asked as she kept her gaze on her phone.

"Baker Street, please," she replied before placing the phone to her ear to hear the ringback tone, the cabby nodding and pulling into traffic. It only rang once before the phone on the other end of the line was answered.

" _Hello, Miss Yule_ ," Sherlock answered, and Quennel couldn't help but sigh with a grin on her face at the fact that she could hear his voice again. She'd spent too many sleepless nights sobbing at the fact that he was 'gone' and now, here he was, answering his mobile as if nothing had happened. She had feared that perhaps last night was some sort of cruel dream, along with this morning, but hearing him now, she knew it was real…and he was back. " _On your way home, I'd imagine_."

"Yes, I am," she still grinned. "And what have you been up to while I was away?"

" _There's a terrorist cell in the city and Mycroft is having me investigate_ ," Sherlock replied, matter-of-factly.

"Keeping busy then," she nodded. "Is John with you?"

The silence that answered her question made her frown in confusion.

"Sherlock?"

" _As of last night, he is, decidedly_ _not_ _, speaking with me at the moment_."

"Lovely," she sighed. "But I imagine you have _someone_ with you. Or are you simply talking to yourself? I suppose that isn't unusual."

" _I'm not completely alone. Molly is here with me. I do need some medical expertise. And I thought it would be a way to thank her for what she did_."

"How very thoughtful of you, Sherlock," Quennel smiled, genuinely. "Would you mind if I crashed the party?"

" _Certainly not_ ," Sherlock instantly replied. " _We're just about to go meet Lestrade for a small case in between my thinking_."

"So, you're taking on little cases while working the big case," she nodded, then smiled, "It always amazes me how well you can multitask that way. I don't think I could do it. Too many distractions."

" _Me being one of them, I suppose_ ," he shot back.

"Sherlock Holmes," she scoffed, "Was that a jest?"

" _Perhaps_ ," he retorted, and she could hear the smirk in his voice. " _You're almost here. Stay in the cab_."

"Wait, what—?"

The line disconnected on the other end before she could finish her question, and in the next moment, the cab came to a stop in front of 221B. She jumped with a start when the door opened and Sherlock suddenly climbed in, Molly right behind him.

"Hi, Quennel," Molly grinned, sitting in front of her as Sherlock sat himself next to a confused Quennel. "Coming along with us, then?"

"Yeah," Quennel drawled, glancing between them in surprise. "I thought I'd have time to change, but I suppose not."

"No need for that," he replied, then told the cabby, "Scotland Yard."

"I would beg to differ," Quennel shot back. "I would love to be as comfortable as Molly looks, right now."

"Well…it was just so cold today," Molly shrugged slightly before looking down at herself and picking at the ends of her scarf.

"Exactly, it's cold, and I'm in drafty work clothes," Quennel added.

"Which is why I took the precaution of bringing your own scarf and jumper," Sherlock retorted, tossing said items toward Quennel who caught them in a fumble on her lap. She gave him a comical glare before sticking her tongue out at him, and Molly couldn't help but giggle at the exchange. Unfazed by the scene, Sherlock continued, "Lestrade described this one as 'a real whopper.' I suppose it means he thinks it's some kind impossible to solve puzzle. We'll see about that."

"Stop drooling, Sherlock," Quennel retorted, pulling on her jumper and scarf. "It's unbecoming. So, Molly, what's he been forcing you to do? Nothing life-threatening, I hope."

"No," Molly chuckled. "Actually this is the first time today we've left the flat for a case. He's been able to solve them all within moments of meeting the clients."

"Oh, so he's been showing off, eh?" Quennel smirked, glancing toward Sherlock who was only staring out his window. "And I see you've been taking some notes, too. Taking over the blog?"

"Um…well, I don't think so," Molly admitted, glancing at Sherlock, warily, but he made no attempt to correct her. "I think I'm just helping out for today."

"Well, now you get to see him in action, after all this time," Quennel smiled. "Glad you could work with him today."

"Yes…it's been quite interesting," Molly nodded with a wide grin. "Enough about that, though. What are you doing now, Quennel? I heard you were back in media."

Sherlock turned a frown to Molly before turning it toward Quennel who pointedly kept her gaze off of him as she replied to Molly, "Yes, I am. Right here in London. BBC's competitor. Well, one of them."

"Oh, right! CAM Global News! I remember now!" Molly recalled with a grin and Quennel nodded again, ignoring Sherlock shifting next to her to stare on in astonishment. Molly looked at him with a frown of wonder, calling, "Sherlock, what—?"

" _CAM_ Global News?" he echoed, finally making Quennel look to him in feigned wonder…she knew exactly why he was questioning her. " _CAM_?!"

"Well I had to go _somewhere_ after you left, Sherlock," Quennel retorted, leading Molly to one conclusion when really it was about something else, and Sherlock knew it. "CAM is just as good as any place to start again. I'm not a reporter there, if that's what you're worried about and I _am_ learning all sorts of things there."

His outrage was instantly cooled when she gave him a wink that only he could see before the cab came to a stop. The next moment Sherlock flew out of the cab, making Molly roll her eyes as Quennel dug through her purse to pay the cabby.

"The least he could do was pay _some_ of the bill," Molly sighed as they climbed out and Sherlock sauntered toward the entrance of Scotland Yard.

"I don't mind," Quennel smiled as the cab drove off and she admired his frame before they both followed after him. "I'm just glad to have him back."

"Oh, yes…about that," Molly began, making Quennel frown at her in wonder at her tone, but she said nothing. "I want to apologize for not telling you. I wanted to so many times, and I _told_ Sherlock he should've told you, but he wouldn't listen. Will you ever forgive me? Because I've always considered you my friend—"

"Molly, slow down!" Quennel chuckled, stopping them at the door and placing a hand on her shoulder, looking her in the eye. "I understand. Plausible deniability. Don't worry about it."

Molly gave a sigh of relief and Quennel pulled her in for a reassuring hug before heading into Scotland Yard to meet Lestrade and Sherlock inside.

* * *

 _The Crime Scene..._

"This one's got us all baffled," Lestrade explained, tearing the crime scene tape from a door they were about to enter.

"I don't doubt it," Sherlock muttered as Lestrade opened the door.

Quennel frowned in wonder as she followed Lestrade, Sherlock and Molly down a set of stairs, through a hole in a brick wall where Lestrade then turned on the lights that were set up to illuminate the pitch black room. Her eyes widened in absolute horror when they were met with the sight of a skeleton in a suit, sitting at a desk with a decanter and wine glass.

She looked to Sherlock, who instantly gave a frown before heading for the scene, pulling his kit from his pocket and removing the magnifying glass to begin his examination. The three watched as he sniffed and blew on the suit then stood tall after a few pauses and pulled out his phone, looking for reception.

"What is it?" Molly asked, watching him with her notepad and pencil in hand. "You're onto something, aren't you?"

"Maybe," Sherlock muttered, lowering his phone and tucking it away again before muttering again, softly, "Shut up, John."

"What?" Molly frowned in wonder along with Lestrade, neither of them having heard it clearly.

"Hmm?" Sherlock hummed, stepping around the skeleton to examine the other side as Quennel bit her lower lip in sorrow, having heard him before he lied, "Nothing."

Lestrade shuffled toward Sherlock, who remained where he was in his examination of the skeleton.

"This going to be your new arrangement, is it?" Lestrade asked Sherlock in a low tone about Molly accompanying him.

"Just giving it a go," Sherlock replied before standing tall again.

"Right," Lestrade acknowledged, then asked, "So, John?"

Sherlock paused on his way to stepping in front of the desk again, next to Quennel, then replied, "Not really in the picture anymore."

A rumbling suddenly came from the ceiling above, causing dust to come down as well, making them all look up.

"Trains?" Molly guessed.

"Trains," Sherlock nodded before kneeling and staring at the scene, pressing his hands together in front of his mouth.

Quennel couldn't take her eyes off of him. She'd missed watching him work, but at the same time, she was slightly afraid of his reaction when he figured out the secret she was hiding in that moment. As Sherlock stood he suddenly turned his gaze to her, making her jump with a start and frown up at him.

"Yes, Mr. Holmes?" she prompted, sounding and looking far more confident than she felt…and he knew it.

"You will soon find out, Miss Yule," he assured her through a smirk as Molly approached the body to begin her own examination.

"Male…forty to fifty," Molly began as Sherlock strolled toward her and she turned to him. "Oh, sorry, did you want to—"

"Uh, no, please, be my guest," Sherlock replied before examining something else and suddenly growling, "Shut up!"

The other three glanced at each other in wonder as Sherlock examined the hand with his magnifying glass and Molly turned back to the body.

"It doesn't make sense," she breathed with a frown.

"What doesn't?" Lestrade wondered as Quennel noticed Sherlock blow on the dust of the desk.

"This skeleton," Molly explained. "It can't be any more than—"

"Six months old," Sherlock said in unison with her as he opened a secret compartment on the side of the desk and peeked inside. He reached in and pulled out an old book, blowing the dust away before casually showing it to Molly who grinned when she saw the title.

"Wow!" she breathed before Sherlock tossed the book onto the desk for Lestrade and Quennel to see.

"How I Did it by Jack the Ripper," Lestrade read aloud as Quennel only took a few steps forward to see it.

"That's impossible!" Molly grinned.

"Welcome to my world," Sherlock retorted, making Quennel roll her eyes, but frowned when she noticed him seeming to wave something away as he mumbled to himself and began putting his things away. "I won't insult your intelligence by explaining it to you."

"No, please, insult away," Lestrade begged, grinning as well in awe as Sherlock attempted to walk away but stopped.

"The corpse is…is six months old," Sherlock fumbled in the start, making Quennel frown and glance to Molly who had noticed it as well before he smoothly continued, "It's dressed in a shoddy Victorian outfit from a museum. It's been displayed on a dummy for many years, in a case facing southeast, judging from the fading of the fabric. It was sold off in a fire damage sake a week ago."

"So the whole thing was a fake?" Lestrade guessed as Sherlock turned to head out of the room.

"Yes," Sherlock blurted as he grabbed Quennel's hand when he passed her, making her whirl and stumble behind him.

"Why would someone go to all that trouble?" Molly called after him, still next to the body.

"Why indeed, John?" Sherlock called back, marching up the stairs with Quennel in tow.

"Molly," she corrected, making him stop and whirl on her once they reached the top and were standing in the front of the door.

"What?" he questioned with a frown.

"That was Molly, not John," she elaborated, then frowned back when he seemed to realize what he'd done. "Are you alright? You seem…off."

"It's…nothing," he sighed, making her frown deepen as they heard Molly and Lestrade heading up the stairs toward them.

"Sherlock—"

"We'll talk later," he assured her in a hushed tone before pulling her away from Molly and Lestrade as they stepped into the doorway. "Now to our next port of call. Someone has some CCTV footage they find rather alarming."

a flat in london...

Sherlock pushed the doorbell of the door he, Molly and Quennel were standing in front of. The home of the man that had talked to Sherlock earlier that day about something he'd found on a CCTV recording.

" _Mind the gap_ ," the doorbell chanted, making Quennel and Molly giggle.

"Sherlock, why do you have that hat?" Quennel couldn't help but ask.

"It's the clients," he explained, as if she should know, making her roll her eyes before the door opened and Sherlock gave a polite smile to the man in the doorway before handing him the hat.

"Oh," the man nodded, taking the hat and adding, "Thanks for hanging onto it."

"No problem," Sherlock nodded before following the man into his flat when he beckoned them to come in. "So, what's this all about, Mr. Shilcott?"

"My girlfriend's a big fan of yours," Howard Shilcott reported as he led the three into a room crowded with train memorabilia and a computer on a desk.

"Girlfriend?" Sherlock chuckled in astonishment, making Howard turn to him with a glare as Quennel elbowed him in the stomach. He grunted before recovering, quickly and adding, "Sorry. Do go on."

"I like trains," Howard stated, making Molly and Quennel frown at the obviousness of the statement, considering the room they were standing in.

"Yes," Sherlock drawled, noting the obvious.

"I work on the Tube, on the District Line," Howard explained. "And part of my job is to wipe the security footage after it's been cleared. I was just whizzing through and I found something a bit bizarre."

Howard sat in the chair at his desk to begin showing the footage as Sherlock raised a brow at his use of the word 'bizarre,' looking to Molly and Quennel as he did.

"Now, this was a week ago," Howard reported of the image on his screen, the other three crowded around to see the footage. "The last train on the Friday night, Westminster Station. Now, this man gets into the last car."

"Car?" Molly smirked.

"They're cars, not carriages," Howard retorted with the irritation of a man who's explained it more than a few times in his life. "It's a legacy of the early American involvement in the Tube system."

Molly shot a look to Quennel who only shrugged and reiterated, "He said he liked trains."

"And the next stop," Howard continued, as Molly smirked. "St James's Park station. And…"

They all looked to the screen, expecting to see the man disembark the train…but the doors in the image open and close without any other movement. The man had disappeared. Howard glanced up at Sherlock as he frowned in interest and wonder as Molly and Quennel both stare on in confusion.

"Thought you'd like it," Howard smirked. "He gets into the last car at Westminster, the only passenger, and the car is empty at St James's Park station. Explain that, Mr. Holmes."

"Couldn't he have just jumped off?" Molly wondered.

"There's a safety mechanism that prevents the doors from opening in transit," Howard refuted, before quickly adding, "But there's something else. The driver of that train hasn't been to work since. According to his flatmate, he's on holiday. Came into some money."

"Sounds like a man that's been bought off," Quennel voiced.

"So if the driver of the train was in on it, then the passenger _did_ get off," Sherlock theorized.

"There's nowhere he could go," Howard objected. "It's a straight run on the District Line between the two stations. There's no side tunnels, no maintenance tunnels – nothing on any map. _Nothing_."

"The train never stops, and a man vanishes," Quennel summarized before sighing sharply and grinning up at Sherlock. "Right up your alley. Sherlock?"

"I know that face," Sherlock whispered, his eyes suddenly shut for a moment before he instantly opened them and said, "Thank you, Mr. Shilcott. I'll take the case. Come along, Molly…Miss Yule."

He suddenly turned and made his way out of the flat and toward the stairs that led to the front entrance. However, he stopped at the top of the second to last flight of stairs that would take them to the foyer. Quennel continued past him, along with Molly before they stopped when they realized he wasn't following and they both looked up at him.

"He's in his Mind Palace," Quennel reported in realization. "We may be here for a bit."

As if to prove her wrong, Sherlock instantly began rattling off, "The journey between those stations usually takes five minutes and that journey took ten minutes. Ten minutes to get from Westminster to St James's Park. So I'm going to need maps, lots of maps. Older maps, all the maps."

"Right," was all Molly could blurt out as he made his way down the stairs.

"You two fancy some chips?" he wondered, still walking.

"Sorry?" Quennel frowned in confusion as the girls followed.

"I know a fantastic fish shop just off the Marylebone Road," Sherlock explained. "The owner always gives me extra portions."

"Did you get him off a murder charge?" Molly wondered, half joking as they reached the last set of stairs.

"No, I helped him put up some shelves," Sherlock retorted through a smirk.

"Ooh! More jokes! How very privileged we are to be graced with the humor of Sherlock Holmes, aren't we, Molly?" Quennel grinned, teasingly as she and Sherlock reached the bottom of the stairs and she looked to Molly who had stopped on the stairs. Sensing Molly had something she wanted to speak with Sherlock about privately Quennel suddenly felt like a third wheel and blurted, "Yeah, I'll just be…outside. In your own time then. I'll hail us a cab, shall I? Right. I'm off!"

Quennel quickly made her way toward the door and stepped outside into the chilly London air to find it snowing. She shivered and pulled her coat and scarf on a little tighter, not bothering to hail a cab. Knowing Sherlock he may want to just walk to the fish shop. She wondered what they were talking about. She knew how Molly had felt about him, and that Sherlock knew, but she was certain Molly wouldn't try anything, and she felt she owed it to her to let her have a moment with him, since she'd helped him out with faking his death. Still, a prick of jealousy stabbed at her heart that Molly had known all along he was alive, when Quennel never had that reassurance.

"Come along, Miss Yule," Sherlock said, suddenly behind her, making her jump and gasp as she turned to him. He gently took her arm and led her along the sidewalk, but she frowned and looked back to see Molly heading in the opposite direction after coming out of the building.

"What about Molly?" she asked, looking up at him.

"She has a fiancé to get home to," he replied, making Quennel's eyes shoot wide in disbelief. "As obtuse as ever, are we, Miss Yule?"

"Well, I'm not _you_ , am I?" she shot back.

"In any case, you and I have a few things to discuss over fish and chips," he explained, making her frown up at him in wonder. "First off: How I Did it by Jack the Ripper."

Her heart suddenly started pounding in panic as he hailed a cab, never once letting go of her arm.

* * *

 _Fish Shop..._

"Alright, Miss Yule, it's time for your confession," Sherlock stated, handing a box of chips to her as she gave a slight pout.

"You already know, so what's the point?" Quennel shot back, taking a bite from her chips.

"Because I want to hear _you_ say it," he retorted with a smirk, making her give him a glare as they turned to stroll back toward Baker Street with their food.

"Well…Phillip thought of getting a case set up that might interest you enough to come out of hiding," she began, then shrugged and popped a chip in her mouth as she added, "He asked for my help, so I gave him an idea and he ran with it. If I had really wanted to make it interesting, I could have, but he wanted to do it himself. He only asked for my opinion on a few things, and in return, he gave me a map of all the places he thought you'd solved cases."

"Ah, yes, that map hanging in your room," he nodded before shoving a chip into his mouth. "I was wondering where you might have gotten that and why Anderson's writing was on it."

"And you?" she prompted, making him turn a frown to her as they still strolled. "You were going to tell me why you've been off all day."

He gave a sharp sigh before glancing around, as if afraid someone might hear him before she decided to state the obvious.

"It's about John, isn't it?" she guessed, and she could tell by the way he glanced at her that she was right. "Sherlock, he can't stay angry at you forever. He's thrilled you're back, but the way you went about it was…not tactful. You just need to give him a bit of time. You'll be back to solving crimes with him in no time."

"Yes, and in the meantime, he's in my head, taunting me," he muttered, popping another chip into his mouth and making her smirk up at him.

"I did notice you telling him to shut up a lot at the Fake Ripper crime scene," she explained, making him give a groan. "Soon it'll be the real John teasing you on a case."

"You seem to be doing just fine in that department, Miss Yule," he retorted. "I suppose it's your specialty."

"It's a thankless job, but someone has to do it," she grinned, then recalled something and gasped, "Sherlock, you _can't_ let Mycroft know that you know about CAM."

"Oh, Quennel…"

"I'm _serious_!" she cut into his groaning. "He'll have my head if he found out! He was very specific after you came back that you were not to know a _thing_ about it!"

"And I suppose you know why."

"Of course I do, _I'm_ the one on the mission. Just _please_ , don't say anything, and don't ask me any more questions."

"Very well," Sherlock sighed in irritation.

"Thank you," Quennel nodded. "Anything else you feel like sharing?"

Sherlock thought for a moment before shrugging, "My parents are in town."

* * *

 **A/N:** reviews?


	4. The Parents of Sherlock Holmes

**A/N:** new chappie! enjoy!

* * *

 _ **Chapter 4: The Parents of Sherlock Holmes**_

"And will you be visiting your parents while they're in town?" Quennel wondered as she and Sherlock made their way up the stairs toward his flat.

"Mycroft is trying to talk me into seeing _Les Miserables_ with them," Sherlock grumbled, stepping into the always open door.

"Oh, that sounds like fun!" she grinned, flopping into Sherlock's chair, finishing off her chips as he still worked on his.

"Trust me, of all the people in that theatre, _I_ will be the one who is the most…miserable," he shot back, making her chuckle and he couldn't help but smirk at his own joke.

They both frowned when they suddenly heard Mrs. Hudson answering the door of the building and another woman's rushed voice, panicked.

"Oh, Mrs. Hudson," she greeted, quickly and as Quennel looked to Sherlock, she noticed he seemed to recognize the voice before they heard her speak John's name. "Sorry, I think someone's got John. John Watson?"

"Hang on!" Mrs. Hudson called, the woman obviously having pushed her way toward the stairs as Quennel shoved herself up from the chair and followed Sherlock to the door. "Who are you?!"

"Oh, I'm his fiancé," the woman replied before rushing up the stairs and coming into view just as Quennel and Sherlock met her.

"Mary?" Sherlock called, then when he saw the panic in her eyes he asked, "What's wrong?"

"Someone sent me this," Mary, a pretty blonde woman, stepped to the other side of Sherlock, showing him her phone. "At first I thought it was just a Bible thing, you know, spam, but it's not. It's a skip code."

"A skip code?" Quennel frowned as Mary scrolled through her messages. "How does that work?"

"First word, then every third," Sherlock explained with a quick glance to Mary, before reading, "'Save John Watson.'" He paused for a moment then breathed, "Now."

Without another word he dropped the nearly empty box in his hand and ran toward the stairs, making both women stare at him in wonder.

"Where are we going?" Mary questioned, both women running after him.

"St James the Less," Sherlock replied, racing down the stairs and past Mrs. Hudson. "It's a church. Twenty minutes by car. Did you drive here?"

"Yes," Mary replied when they reached the street and Sherlock paced in the rain, looking up and down the street as he stood in the middle of it.

"It's too slow, it's too slow," he muttered, still pacing and Quennel gasped as a car swerved around him.

"Sherlock, what the hell are you doing?!" she shouted. "What are you waiting for?!"

"This," he announced, holding his hand up to stop a motorcyclist and his passenger in the middle of the street. The bike came to a screeching stop, making Quennel cringe before Sherlock shouted, "Police! I need your vehicle! And the helmets! Mary, get on!"

"Where's your car?" Quennel asked Mary, who instantly tossed her the keys as the motorcyclist and his passenger climbed off the bike without argument.

"Two cars that way!" Mary called, pointing in the direction she'd parked. "You must be Quennel! Lovely to meet you!"

"Likewise!" Quennel called back, turning to get to her car. "I'll follow behind!"

"We'll get there first!" Sherlock called, climbing onto the bike and putting on the helmet one of the bikers gave him.

"No doubt!" Quennel replied, finding the car and unlocking it. "Get going!"

Quennel opened the door and climbed into the car, quickly starting it and pulling into traffic just as Sherlock and Mary zoomed off on the bike. She couldn't follow close, but now that she knew where they were headed, she could still meet them there if she lost track of them. She kept the two in sight, almost instantly becoming very acquainted with Mary's car, but soon she had to slam on the breaks when they suddenly stopped. There was a police block on one of the streets they were headed on.

"Damn," she whispered before seeing Sherlock's head moving from side to side, trying to find a way through.

She glanced to her left and noticed a set of stairs before putting the car into reverse and turning in her seat to make sure she didn't hit anything as she quickly backed up, giving him room to do the same. She watched him turn and head toward the set of stairs, guessing he was making his own way before maneuvering the car to head around the police block.

Driving as fast as she possibly could, it wasn't long before she caught sight of police lights in the rearview mirror. She looked to the speedometer and growled at herself, realizing she was way over the speed limit. Without taking her gaze from the road, she dug her hand into her pocket and pulled out her phone, quickly finding a number to dial it, then placing the call on speaker phone.

"Mycroft," she blurted, without greeting. "John's been taken hostage. Sherlock is on his way to St James the Less and I'm breaking the speed limits to get there in a car that isn't mine. Get the police off my tail, won't you?"

" _Miss Yule, need I remind you who the only woman I take orders from is?_ " Mycroft retorted.

"And need I remind _you_ , Mr. Holmes, that the only woman who can keep Sherlock at bay, if she wanted to, is _me_?" she shot back. "Unless you would like me to give him all the details about my mission at CAM Global."

There was a moment of silence before she noticed the police car behind her not only fall back slightly, but quickly veer around her and in front of her.

" _They'll clear the path for you, Miss Yule_ ," Mycroft suddenly came back onto the line. " _Follow the police car to St James the Less._ "

"Thank you, Mycroft," she grinned before hanging up and followed the police car which had now become her police escort.

Once they reached St James the Less, she and the policeman double parked, both racing out of their vehicles, the policeman on his radio, reporting where he was and the situation that Mycroft had no doubt filled him in on somehow. She looked toward the crowd gathered outside around a burning pile of wood with a scarecrow representing Guy Fawkes on top of it. She heard screams and shouts, but suddenly heard both Mary and Sherlock calling for John.

"Call for an ambulance!" she ordered the policeman, who was instantly on his radio as she bolted toward the crowd to move through it. She broke through to find Sherlock and Mary leaning over John lying on the ground, blood running from his temple and covered in soot. "There's an ambulance on the way."

"Good," Sherlock nodded, panting from running as Mary knelt close to John and he stood to stand next to Quennel, still staring down at his friend. "He's been drugged and suffered possible smoke inhalation. He'll need to get to the hospital right away for a possible concussion as well, depending on the severity of the wound on his head."

Sherlock began pacing in agitation as she watched him.

"I must be onto something," he muttered, making her frown at him in wonder. "I just don't know what. I _hate_ not knowing. But why _him_? He's not been seen with me since two years ago. Why go after _him_ and not _me_?"

"Sherlock, we should get back to the flat," Quennel tried, still watching him pace and not trying to stop him. "Mary will go with John and I'm sure he'll be out by morning. We have to let Mrs. Hudson know he's alright."

"It's the train footage, it _must_ be," he growled in frustration before he stopped and stared wide eyes at her. "Oh… Oh! It's him!"

"What?" Quennel frowned in confusion as Sherlock suddenly bolted toward the street. "Wait! Sherlock!"

He hailed a cab and climbed in, nearly slamming the door behind him but Quennel was able to catch the door and climb in after him as he told the driver to head to Baker Street.

"Sherlock, what's going on?" she questioned as he nearly bounced in his seat, itching to get back to his flat.

"That man on the train, that vanished," he explained. "I know where I've seen him before. It didn't occur to me until just now. He's one of my markers."

"Markers?" she frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"Certain people are markers," he began. "If they start to move, I'll know something's up. Like rats deserting a sinking ship. That man, on the train, he's one of my rats. Rat number one. This must have something to do with him."

"Is that what all that was on your wall?" Quennel muttered, recalling his wall being filled with pictures that had been scribbled over or crossed off. "So you think this is part of the case Mycroft has you working on? The terrorist group?"

"It must be," Sherlock nodded before looking to Quennel as she gently chewed on her lower lip. "You should have gone to the hospital with Mary and John if you were so worried."

"I am worried, but I'm far more worried about leaving _you_ on your own," she replied. "Mycroft told me to keep an eye on you, in any case."

"Yes, he mentioned you were keeping him company while I was away."

"I doubt he said that," she chuckled.

"No, I believe the phrase he used was, 'Keeping him just as annoyed.'"

"That sounds about right. Did he compare me to a goldfish?"

"As a matter of fact, he did. How did you know?"

"I've heard him say that when he thinks I'm not paying attention."

"And it doesn't offend you?"

"I imagine you _both_ think ordinary people are like goldfish…and I imagine we are in comparison to the two of you. It's never upset me before, why should it now?"

Sherlock gave a slight smirk and placed a hand on her knee, making her frown up at him but he only looked out the window of the cab.

"Still, you amaze me, Miss Yule," he murmured.

"I have to keep you interested _somehow_ , Mr. Holmes," she smirked back, making him chuckle.

* * *

 _The Next Day..._

Quennel sighed as she set her purse down on her sofa, scratching Caesar's head as he trotted next to her with her other hand. She was finally home from CAM Global and ready to get changed to head over to Sherlock's. She had promised she would head over there after work with something she'd been keeping safe for him since he was away. Once she changed she stepped toward her closet and reached in to pull out the violin case with his violin and made her way toward the door. Caesar gave a small whine as she gripped the knob and she couldn't help but give a small pout at the look on his face. He was missing his mistress.

"I promise Caesar, you and I will have a lovely day at the park soon," she smiled, kneeling to scratch him on the neck and chest with her free hand. "I've just missed Sherlock so much, I have to spend some time with him. Maybe the three of us can go out soon. I think he secretly likes you."

The dog gave a soft bark as if to agree before stepping close to lick her face, making her giggle.

"Alright, I'll send Andy and Will over to check on you," she laughed before scratching his head one more time and standing to head out the door, shutting it behind her. She quickly made her way out of the building as she pulled out her phone and texted Andy and Will to check on Caesar since he was feeling lonely. Soon she was heading up the stairs toward Sherlock's flat, finding the door open, and not being able to help her pace from quickening as she called out, "Sherlock! I've brought something—! Oh…"

She stopped at the doorway when she saw Sherlock standing with an older couple near the sofa, all three looking to her with curiosity.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you since you're with clients," she apologized, stepping toward the kitchen. "I'll just leave this here—"

"No, Miss Yule, it's quite alright," Sherlock cut in, waving her over and causing her to frown in wonder as she still carried his violin. When she stepped closer to him he took the case and set it down on his desk before taking her shoulders and turning her toward the couple. "Quennel, these are…my parents, Timothy and Wanda. Mother, father, this is Quennel Yule. The one I told you about."

Quennel felt her heart stop as she stared at the couple, her eyes wide as they darted between the two then slowly turned her gaze to Sherlock as he still held his arm around her shoulders.

"You told your parents about me?" was all she could think to whisper, making him frown down at her in confusion.

"Yes, of course," he replied before turning a strained smile to the couple as she looked back at them as well.

"Sorry! Hi!" Quennel quickly grinned, realizing she was being rude before she held out her hand to shake theirs in turn. "Yes, I'm Quennel. It's _lovely_ to meet you! Sherlock told me you were in town, but he didn't go to mentioning whether or not you would be visiting him or…the other way 'round."

"Oh, we know how busy he is," Wanda replied. "We just thought we'd pop by and have a quick chat."

"It's wonderful to finally meet you, Quennel," Timothy smiled, sweetly. "Sherlock and Mycroft have told us so many things about you!"

"Have they?" she nodded, dumbstruck that either one of them would say anything. "Well, I can assure you all the good things are true."

That earned a chuckle each from them, making her give a small sigh of relief.

"Sherlock tells me you're going to see _Les Miserables_ tomorrow, I believe," she recalled. "A matinee?"

"Yes, we are!" Wanda nodded. "Mycroft is taking us."

"Though I'm sure he wishes he weren't," Timothy chuckled.

"Oh, I can guarantee that," Sherlock shot back, causing Quennel to elbow him in the gut as she kept looking at his parents with a smile. He gave a slight grunt and jerked with the impact, but didn't look away from his parents either, then added, "Miss Yule, I seem to recall you saying something about your fondness for musicals and stage plays not too long ago."

"Yes," she drawled, somehow seeing what was coming next…and praying she was wrong.

"In fact, I also recall you saying something about not having seen _Les Mis_ on stage," Sherlock went on, and Quennel's heart sank at what she absolutely knew was coming next. "Perhaps, to spare Mycroft and I from the horror of the event, a true stage lover should accompany you to the show? They say people enjoy things more with other people that have the same interest, if the three of you count as people."

"Yes, that does sound…lovely," she replied, hesitantly before noticing, with a note of melodramatic shock, "Sherlock! You haven't even offered them tea! Where are your manners?! Come help me in the kitchen with some tea for them. Mr. and Mrs. Holmes, we'll be back in two shakes. Make yourselves comfortable."

"Miss Yule—?"

"Not getting out of this, Mr. Holmes," she interrupted in a low tone as she dragged him along by his arm. Once they were in the kitchen, she shut the door separating the kitchen from the sitting room and turned to him in agitation, speaking low. "Did you even take into consideration that I may have plans tomorrow? Or how absolutely nerve-racking it is for a women – _any_ woman – to meet her boyfriend's parents, let alone spend a day with them out of nowhere?!"

Sherlock frowned in confusion but said nothing, shaking his head with a slight shrug.

"Of course you didn't. Look who I'm talking to," she sighed, lifting the kettle and filling it with water. "Two years away, and you haven't changed a bit have you?"

"Quennel," he called, gently, making her nearly drop the kettle as she set it in the machine to heat it. She turned to him with wide eyes as he stepped closer to her. "I _do_ understand that this is quite a shock, but I wanted you to meet them. As I understand it, the social convention is to introduce one's significant other to their nuclear family. Mostly for approval from both parties to ensure an easy transition for the couple from courtship to marriage, as I understand it. However, as marriage may be improbable…not to say impossible, in our situation, I find myself…unable to keep myself from proudly flaunting you to everyone, including my parents. I want them to be as enamored with you…as _I_ am. Can you understand that?"

Quennel felt her heart pounding as she took in his words, but she quickly recovered as she couldn't help teasing him for a moment.

"You're _that_ desperate to get out of _Les Mis_ that you would sweet talk me to get me to go with them instead?" she smirked.

"Yes," he instantly replied, making her eyes shoot wide in disbelief before she glared at him.

"Sherlock—!"

"It doesn't make what I said just now any less true," he cut in, making her stare at him in shock, her rage instantly doused.

The kettle suddenly whistled, indicating it was boiling. Before she could even think of moving, he leaned forward to press a kiss to her cheek then stepped to the kettle to take it away from the heat.

"I'll prepare the tea, shall I?" he suggested, making her eyes shoot to him in disbelief. "Go ahead and charm my parents while you wait."

Still stunned, she was unable to do anything else but obey him. She shuffled toward the door and left it open as she stepped through and toward the sofa where Timothy and Wanda sat. Quennel sat in the chair at the desk closest to the sofa, shaking away her shock and grinning at the couple, nervously.

"Sherlock will be out with the tea in a moment," she reported and after a brief silence, Wanda was the one to break it.

"Sherlock says you were a reporter for the BBC when you met," she recalled.

"Oh, yes," Quennel fumbled, slightly. "I came to him for help finding my friend."

"Yes, he mentioned something about your naivety in the whole thing," Wanda nodded in recollection, making her glare toward the kitchen where the sound of a dish clattering against another sounded.

He had heard it…and he knew he would pay for it later.

"Well, I suppose I was rather innocent back then," she admitted, graciously then smiled, "But I'd like to think I've grown wiser since then."

"We're certain of that, my dear," Timothy smiled, warmly.

"And you're working with Mycroft now, yes?" Wanda wondered, and Quennel nodded with an affirmative hum as Sherlock finally arrived with a tray set with four cups and saucers, a teapot, cream and sugar.

Quennel stood and took the tray to set it on the table in front of the sofa, on top of all the papers scattered over its surface. Sherlock looked to her in wonder but she only gave him a small smile.

"I'll be mother this time," she smiled, making Sherlock nod and step back to sit in his chair. "How do you two take your tea?"

After preparing their tea and serving the three, Quennel sat with her own cup at the desk, glancing between the three before deciding to break the silence with something she knew would make Sherlock exceedingly happy.

"You know, as Sherlock said, it _has_ been some time since I've been to the theatre," she began, drawing everyone's attention. "If you wouldn't mind, I could accompany you tomorrow so that you can be spared a moaning, groaning son during what will surely be a lovely performance."

"Oh, that would be _wonderful_ , darling!" Wanda agreed with a grin. "If you'd like, we can pick you up here! Mycroft is sending a car for us."

"Well, if it's _Mycroft's_ car, then absolutely," Quennel smirked. "I'll be here, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed."

Wanda and Timothy both gave a chuckle each as Quennel glanced to Sherlock with a wink that only he could see, and she could see his gratitude in his gaze. Her next comment, however, dashed that gratitude to pieces. Still, she couldn't help teasing him.

"Besides, now I can refresh my memory of all the songs," she smirked, keeping her gaze on Sherlock's parents, but she could feel his gaze on her as she added, "I'll certainly be humming or singing the songs well after the performance. Perhaps, Sherlock, you can accompany me on the violin?"

"I think not, Miss Yule," Sherlock retorted, taking a sip of his tea.

"Oh, but I'm sure your parents would enjoy a private concert once we've practiced," Quennel couldn't help but smile mischievously in his direction, making him glare at her over the lip of his cup.

"That sounds absolutely wonderful!" Wanda grinned, making Sherlock lower his cup as his glare burned even hotter at Quennel who only giggled and shrugged.

"You see?" she smiled. "If you get stage fright, William can help out on the violin. He's my neighbor. He played a piece for me by request about two years ago. Something Sherlock wrote, actually."

"Are the two of you finished with your tea?" Sherlock suddenly asked his parents, standing and making his way toward them to take their cups without waiting for their answers and set them on the tray to move it onto the table where Quennel was still sitting before sitting in his chair again.

Quennel rolled her eyes then turned a smile to his parents before setting her own cup down and standing to take it to the kitchen, quickly setting it on the table for later before heading back, guessing, "You must have missed Sherlock very much while he was gone."

"Oh, yes, we did," Wanda nodded as the three looked to Sherlock who looked back to him with a frown of wonder as she continued, "I can't tell you how glad we are, Sherlock. All that time, people thinking the worst of you. We're just pleased it's all over."

"I'm certain you are," Sherlock replied, steepling his fingers beneath his chin.

"Well, they can't help it, can they?" Quennel smiled, sitting in John's chair as Sherlock glared back at her before she looked to Wanda to change the subject. "So how has your day been so far?"

Quennel watched Sherlock as Wanda began a story about a lost lottery ticket. He sat quietly in his chair, his fingers steepled under his chin, his eyes closed. She loved watching him think.

"…'It wasn't where I'd put it at all, silly woman'," Wanda quoted, bringing Quennel back to reality and drawing her attention to her as she continued, "Anyway, it was then that I first noticed it was missing. I said, 'Have you checked down the back of the sofa?' He's always losing things down the back of the sofa, aren't you, dear?"

"Afraid so," Timothy nodded, and Quennel couldn't help but smile as she looked to Sherlock while he tried to concentrate.

"Keys, small change, sweeties," Wanda resumed in exasperation. "Especially his glasses. Blooming things. I said, 'Why don't you get a chain, wear 'em round your neck?' And he says, 'What? Like Larry Grayson?'"

Sherlock suddenly stood and marched toward them to step onto the table, then between them on the sofa, staring at his papers pinned to the wall.

"And did you eventually find the lottery ticket?" Quennel asked, since Sherlock was obviously leaving the small talk to her.

"Well, yes, thank goodness," Wanda continued, unfazed by Sherlock's behavior as Timothy looked to Sherlock in wonder but said nothing. "We caught the coach on time after all. We managed to see St Paul's, the Tower, but they weren't letting anyone into Parliament."

That seemed to catch Sherlock's attention, making him look to her with a frown.

"Some big debate going on," she explained, making him turn to frown at Quennel, and she returned his expression before the door to the flat opened, catching all their attentions.

"John," Sherlock greeted in surprise as Quennel shot to her feet to race toward the doctor and hug him tightly.

John chuckled before seeing Mr. and Mrs. Holmes, as Quennel stepped back again with a grin, making him apologize, "Sorry, you're busy."

"No, they were just leaving," Sherlock assured him, leaning down to pull his mother up and urge her toward the door.

"Oh, were we?" Wanda frowned as Timothy stood as well, making Quennel roll her eyes at him.

"Yes," Sherlock urged.

"No, if you've got a case…" John began.

"No, not a case," Sherlock smiled, tightly as John moved away from the door and Sherlock lead the couple out the door. "Go, go."

"Yeah, well, we're here till Saturday, remember," Wanda reminded.

"Yes, great, wonderful," Sherlock retorted, still leading them out the door as Quennel shook her head at his terrible manners. "Just get out."

"Sherlock!" Quennel gasped in horror.

"Yes, well, give us a ring," Wanda urged as she and Timothy shuffled out.

"Very nice, yes, good. Get out," Sherlock snapped, attempting to shut the door behind them, but Wanda stuck her foot in the door. He looked to her foot in astonishment before looking back at Wanda in wide-eyed confusion.

"Quennel, we'll see you tomorrow, yes?" Wanda called around him as Quennel stepped up and waved to her with a grin.

"Yes, of course!" she called. "Can't wait!"

Sherlock attempted to shut the door again, still hitting his mother's foot as Timothy urged, "Ring up more often, won't you? She worries."

"Promise," Wanda whispered, making Sherlock look behind at John and Quennel before leaning back into the crack of the door.

"Promise," he whispered back. Wanda lifted a hand and touched his cheek, affectionately making him duck back, muttering, "Oh, for God's…"

Sherlock back away and slammed the door shut before turning to lean back against it with a sigh before telling John, "Sorry about that."

"No, it's fine," John assured him as Quennel sat herself on the sofa where his parents had been sitting. "Clients?"

"Just my parents," Sherlock replied, stepping away from the door as John watched in in wide-eyed shock.

"Your parents?" John echoed in astonishment.

"In town for a few days," Sherlock continued.

" _Your_ parents?"

"Mycroft promised to take them to a matinee of _Les Mis_. Tried to talk me into doing it."

"Yes, instead he roped _me_ into doing it," Quennel chimed in with a smile, making Sherlock give her a slight glare, but she was ignored.

" _Those_ were your parents?" John questioned again, going to the window to look out, seeing the Holmes' getting into a cab, then chuckled, "Well… _that_ is not what I…I mean, they're just so…ordinary."

"It's a cross I have to bear," Sherlock retorted, making Quennel and John chuckle as the doctor stepped toward his chair in thought before turning to Sherlock again.

"Did they know, too?" John wondered.

Sherlock seemed to get his meaning right away and looked away, trying to avoid eyes contact as he only replied, "Hmm?"

"That you've spent the last two years playing hide and seek?" John elaborated, watching Sherlock pick at some dust on his laptop, still avoiding his gaze.

"Maybe," Sherlock muttered.

"Ah, so _that's_ why they weren't at the funeral!" John retorted, knowingly.

"Sorry," Sherlock replied instantly. "Sorry _again_!"

"Don't feel left out, John," Quennel chimed in, glancing over the papers on the table. "I was left in the dark, too, and I'm his bloody girlfriend."

"Miss Yule—!"

"I see you shaved your moustache," Quennel smiled, cutting into whatever Sherlock was about to say.

"Yeah," he nodded, turning to her. "Wasn't working for me."

"I'm glad," Sherlock nodded, making John turn to him.

"You didn't like it?" John wondered, knowingly.

"No, I prefer my doctors clean-shaven," Sherlock smirked.

"That's not a sentence you hear every day," John blurted as he sat in his chair, making Quennel smile.

"How are you feeling?" Sherlock wondered.

"Yeah, not bad. A bit…smoked."

"Right."

Quennel couldn't help but laugh as she stood and made her way toward John again to sit next to his feet.

"Well, the gang's all here, then," she grinned up at Sherlock, making him unable to hide his smile and the sparkle in his eye.

* * *

 **A/N:** i couldn't resist, reviews?


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